


fork in the road

by cornucopias



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, atsukita but very slight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:40:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27285052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornucopias/pseuds/cornucopias
Summary: The lines Miya Atsumu sees, the lines Miya Osamu shows him.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu
Kudos: 28





	fork in the road

_This is how they go,_

A line stretches in front of him, translucent, yet visibly, horizontally there. It has always been there. It separates him from the things he seeks. He’s not afraid of it.

Four years old, and the line of the dining table’s edge, as he looks up from the ground taunts him. Laughs in the face of his despair. So what if his mother says one pudding’s enough for a day, _a baby doesn’t need so much sugar, especially one as cheeky as **you,**_ whatever that means. There are persimmons he can have instead. Besides, Samu’s waiting, and he can’t let their mother know he’s had two puddings already.

Years later, someone he can share his unbridled love and sweat with will laugh and smack him on the head, apologise to his mother for putting up with him, crack a joke about _Mama Miya_ he won’t understand because another constant line in his life has been the re-runs of Sazae-san at 8 in his blue pyjama-set he swaps with Samu’s pink sometimes. If he prefers the pink, and if Samu always needs to somehow swap for his blue ones despite complaining of how they itch – well. Not all things need commenting on.

At four he doesn’t know all this yet. The world that’s waiting for him, with its vast many people. All he knows is Samu’s waiting for him in the other room, there’s a line in front of him, and he’s not afraid.

When their mother spanks them both a little, much later, when the theft is discovered and the bedtime far surpassed, it’s to Samu’s pouty tears and Atsumu’s happy ones.

* * *

In fourth grade he’s taunted by Osamu for not being good enough – until he’s haunted by the prospect of not getting the same love-thrill he revels in at every milestone reached, every point surpassed.

It isn’t that being taunted means anything to him. Heck, he’s taunted every day of his life anyway. His mother doesn’t let him hear the end of it because his handwriting on the test papers he _deigns to bring home – don’t say it like that ma! I show you everything! – sure you do –_ is still so bad, his grandma and Samu keep whispering together and cackling whenever he’s in the room. It drives him mad even though his mom keeps insisting _they’re only doing it to mess with you! Quit letting it affect you!_ God that old woman is wicked mad.

He’s never bothered by it, though. Samu knows he has to depend on him for all the food he keeps sneaking for him anyway, and once his grandma is done bullying him and Samu’s gone off to help their mom in the kitchen, they sit for their Sazae-san reruns with his head in his grandma’s lap, his grandma always smelling like a freshly washed cat.

And so being taunted has never bothered him. What does bother him at this new juncture, though, is hard to define. Not only have he and Samu been playing volleyball more and more frequently, abandoning all their previous pursuits that range from baseball, rugby, swimming, track and field, to calligraphy, cooking, _do we really need this one Samu? You and mom make the best food around anyway – Only a scrub who’s tasted nothing would say that you cat-tongued toad_ , they’ve landed themselves at a workshop for it.

Last month, Samu had declared he didn’t want to swim anymore. Atsumu had jeered.

_What? Scared I’m better than ya? It wouldn’t be wrong of you to think that._

With all the loathing a boy that young could muster, Samu had said, _volleyball is cool. Flapping in the water like fish is not_. Another line drawn between this world and the next. Another pursuit cordoned off by invisible lines, another line pulling Atsumu towards this new, blinding love.

Like most things in his life so far, his line of sight is extended to this pursuit by Samu. He didn’t think swimming was worth abandoning, but was there a world in which he wasn’t challenging this blood-brat?

_Setter is one of the coolest positions there is cuz only the very best players get to play it._

Another line drawn. When their coach sets to a young, insecure kid a little later, Atsumu’s heart’s gone and fallen in love, this particular line extending from the power that flows from the coach’s fingertips to the moment the boy spikes it the same way he’d seen Aran – _Samu, he’s that impressive older boy with the impressive name! –_ spike it earlier.

While it’s difficult for Atsumu to explain what’s bothering him, it sure has something to do with how as this new pursuit sticks, a fever burns within, and Samu’s made setter – that spoiled brat – _excuse me!? Who’s calling the kettle black? –_ and when he’s finally made setter Samu doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t bat an eye. He’d wanted to spike originally anyway.

What rankles are not the taunts, but definitely this: for the first time there’s not joy in eliciting a response from Samu, but in eliciting the right arc from the Mikasa ball. The right distance, the right drop.

This heart, a fickle thing.

* * *

A love that’s unending. In middle school with all the level-headedness of an adrenaline-charged young boy who can’t stay away from what makes every day worth living, from this – _no I **will** study after this ma! It’s not a distraction! I’m not escaping from studying, just gotta do this one more time. _From this – _god, Samu, do you have to be insufferable about everything? I just gotta practice my serve a couple of times more then we **will** go buy pudding. _From this – _huh? They hate me? Well so what. Not my fault they’re all scrubs._

From this unsatiable hunger, Atsumu sees the inside of the court more times than Samu’s probably seen the kitchen. When he tries to rub this fact in Samu he’s met with an infuriatingly cool _oh okay then, guess I’ll stop making my onigiris for you._

There is a line here too, on one side are his teammates, on the other, preys. Not his fault they don’t see what he does – unending possibilities, a hundred and one different ways to pass, to touch with ten fingertips, to make something holy. To unmake that holiness. To instil, in turns, on both sides of _this_ line, reverence and dread.

There is and has been, always, a line in front of him. No one else can see it. It’s _his_ , and with a fervour borne out of possessive love, the lines of power extending from the muscles he works for every day, he comes onto court and sets the incoming ball. No matter where it comes from. No matter how it comes. There’s such blessed, blessed joy, in _receiving._ This gift. This thing, rightfully his. If he tells Samu it’ll get him nothing but pain from being chewed out for being so greedy. It’s not his fault his hunger extends in all directions. Consuming, bottomless. 

But God didn’t hand him a blood-brat and expect him to not drag this bastard to hell. Samu keeps running slightly ahead, even if everyone else insists it’s right by his side. That’s okay with Atsumu, no one else has to see. This line, too, his own personal thing to crave. To cross.

* * *

Another line drawn when Samu tells him he’s not continuing with volleyball. Atsumu would tell him he felt this coming, but his blinding rage compels him otherwise. A line, the collar he grabs him by. A line, poetical, delivered.

The promise of success another line extending far into the future, a nebulous area now that this blood-brother has chosen another line to stake out and make his. Atsumu’s not as blind as they think – he has heard granny discuss this with their mom; he has felt the bottomless hunger emanating from this person for a different thing. He has sought his line out, and in the process seen what Samu covets. What he feels is not a rational appraisal of destinies and integrity, it’s maddening rage that now he can see these lines, now clearly diverging. He recognizes the threat of one being happier than the other "at the end" as the gnarled olive branch it is, Samu always sucked at comforting him despite his goody-two-shoes act. Despite that, the rage. The anguish.

* * *

Twenty-three, and he sits in his apartment, legs folded on top of his futon. Contemplates the lines of his futon – Kita-san taught him how to mend it when the side-seams start to come apart over the phone. He has been too busy with the practice matches; all he can do when he gets home is conk out on the bed. The lines remain unmended. Ever since high school ended Kita-san has been texting him often. He’s staring at the messages on his LINE. Bokkun’s sent him several messages he doesn’t want to open right now, Omi-kun’s sent a ‘hm’ to his long-winded message about how he needs to stay for the bonding sessions he organizes for the newbies every time someone joins the team, there are texts from Kita-san he will get to at the end, as a treat for himself, and Samu’s sent something.

He opens it, expectant. Just like he’d thought, Samu’s sent him details of when the restaurant’s opening. Atsumu would reply and tease the bastard about opening it right smack in the middle of this rugby town, so close to where the team meets for practice – but he is distracted, aloof. He is busy thinking about lines.

He starts picking at the seams. Before he even knows it, he has called the bastard.

“Hnnrg.”

“Already asleep? Wow Samu it’s not even 10 yet, you old geezer.”

“Oh shut up already… God. What’s so important that couldn’t wait till tomorrow?”

“I think I like Kita-san.”

Silence. Then he hears sheets rustling and Sunarin’s voice grumbling faintly. Good, this means the brat’s sitting up straight.

“I hate you.”

“What the heck!? Rude! What can I do if I like him?”

“Ugh, whatever, just like him. I’d hoped you wouldn’t. It’s not my place to say this, but I think you have a shot.”

“Hm? I think so too.”

“Huh? What the heck? If you’re not suffering through some lovesick crisis then why’d ya call?”

Atsumu doesn’t respond. The seam is so horribly undone now that he reckons he’ll send a picture of it to Kita-san just to get a voice note admonishing him. His night-voice is adorable to listen to anyway.

“Atsumu. Are you there? Hello?”

“Hm. Yeah. Sorry.”

They both stay silent on the phone awhile, just breathing. Winter is settling in, and the window is all fogged up. Atsumu lazily traces shapes on the pane.

“You saw my text?”

“Called you right after.”

He’s dragging his finger across the pane in one big, curving line now.

“Oh. Well. That’s happening.”

“It sure is.”

And Atsumu’s feeling strange, so he won’t tease Samu for the location, not yet, but instead he says,

“If I get Kita-san aren’t I one-upping you?”

“What are you going on about?”

“Aren’t I one-upping you on our bet, of who’s gonna be happier?”

There is another silence that stretches, a curiously warm one. The awareness that Atsumu rarely mentions this known to both of them. A peace offering understood, left largely unacknowledged. Then it breaks.

“I got Rin first, you sweaty-jerk. I’m practically winning in all departments, especially the romantic.”

“First of all, I’m a sportsman, how is sweaty even an insult? You’ve gotten sloppy. Second, you both were practically conjoined at the hip since high school, it hardly counts. I’m getting the team _captain._ ”

Over the protests and curse words that indicate his brother is definitely awake now, he smiles at the line he’s drawn. It’s wonky and not straight at all, and it’s already fogging up. Gets up and goes to the living room, now convinced the both of them won’t be able to sleep after all, and he’d have to put off texting Kita-san for the moment, because right now this invisible line extending from him to this brat on the other end is more important. And because he’s in his pink pyjama set, all cozy, and getting up from the comfort of his futon only means he’s gotten up for Sazae-san.

On the other end, he can hear Samu firing up the TV for the same.

**Author's Note:**

> \- Cats can allegedly not taste much? Hence the Osamu taunt
> 
> \- MSBY are based in Higashiosaka, which is where Osamu's going to set up base as well, and it's commonly known as rugby town. Hence the Atsumu comment


End file.
